Around the World!
by tykimikkity
Summary: The representative of a country is 'assassinated'. The Earth's heroes are called in. Thus, the Avengers are once again on a plane with the countries. This time they're going around the world. Chaos ensues. Again. (Loosely connected to Potpourri!)
1. A is for Assassination!

**Around the World!**

_**A **__is for __**A**__ssassination_

* * *

><p>The man with the square glasses knew exactly what he was going to do when he arrived at the doors of the Hall that day. He had spent months preparing himself for it . Months and months of grueling training — no, this was not the time for thoughts like that. He needed to focus.<p>

"The meeting is over already." one of two guards stationed at the glass doors stated curtly, blocking him from the entrance with a slide of a foot. "If you want to enter, I'll need to see your ID."

"Oh, come on, guys," the man with the square glasses laughed. "Y'know that you can let me of all people through."

The guardsman's foot did not budge. So, with a grumble, the man with the square glasses reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an identification card. The two guards looked it over, checked it with the list of names recorded in their guest list.

"Sorry for your time, Mr. Jones." the guardsman coughed as he handed the man back his ID. "Protocol is protocol." He stepped to the side and averted his eyes.

"No problemo at all!" The man with the square glasses replied in a sing-song voice. Waving the two guards off, he entered the Hall with a hop in his walk.

As the guards had said, the meeting had ended hours before, so the Hall was now eerily empty and quiet — quite the stark contrast to the bustling humbug it had been earlier. The main lights had been switched off; the only visible source of light came from the dim, yellow, back-up overheads. The yellowness of the lights reflected off of the marble floor tiles which the man quickly sped across.

He made his way across the Hall and began to ascend the swirling staircase that was at the end of it. His footsteps echoed with his purpose. The purpose was imminently gaining on him, so his footsteps quickened. Step, step, step, step, rapidly, until he reached the top floor.

This floor was darker than the one below. No back-up lightings showed the man the way. The moonlight streaming in through the windows lining the hall was his only guide. Such light urged him towards a pair of oak doors residing at the very end of the hall. He drifted towards them, his purpose ringing loudly in his mind.

Placing a hand on one of the doors' brass knobs, he turned it and swung the door open.

A stereotypical meeting room unfolded before him. A long table that stretched from one end of the room to the other; several dozen tables neatly pushed back along the walls; large windows, allowing brilliant silver light to enter, that took up the entire other half of the room. A young man standing in front of the centermost window with his back turned towards the door.

This was it. This was the moment.

The man with the square glasses reached into his coat pocket, pushed back his ID, and pulled out a sharp object. He leapt forward, leapt across the desk, charged at the young man. Glass broke. A clear, clattering shrill rang out. Droplets of red splattered the black sky.

The two men, for a moment, were soaring out in open night air, one with a look of surprise and the other with a look of accomplishment. The next moment, they plummeted downwards.

The man with the square glasses looked at the young man falling beside him — the young man with the knife-like object in his chest. The young man's cerulean eyes glistened as he attempted to identify the man with the square glasses. Perhaps the young man was crying. Perhaps the cold night air was beating so ferociously at his eyes that they began watering. No matter. That glisten soon dulled, so much so that the young man's eyes resembled two worn-out pieces of blue chalk.

The dull eyes closed.

The world around the young man seemed to distort and crack, as if the world no longer wanted to exist without him.

Yes, the man with the square glasses knew exactly what he was going to do that day. That was the day he was going to kill a country. That was the day he was going to assassinate America.

* * *

><p>The plane ride was abnormally quiet. Quiet, as in Tony Stark had Lady Gaga blasting on the intercom. Quiet, as in Thor was jollily and hypocritically laughing at Steve's attempts to lower down the intercom system's noise levels. Quiet, as in Bruce Banner was inwardly chanting calming Buddhist prayers with twitching lips. Quiet as it usually was with the Avengers.<p>

At least they had their own personal plane this time around, instead of having to share their ride with half a thousand other passengers. It saved them from awkward situations and chaotic mishaps.

Steve wished that Natasha and Clint were still with them. The duo had departed immediately after the team's evaluation was over. Apparently, their presence was needed elsewhere by SHIELD. Perhaps if they had stayed, the two might have been able to straighten Stark out with an arrow to the knee or an electrified punch to the gut… Well, Barton would probably have been rocking out to Lady Gaga with Stark, so he wouldn't have been much help in the end.

After several more minutes of fumbling around with the remote control to the intercom system, Steve decided that he had enough of 'Poker Face'-ing. He didn't have anything against Lady Gaga or anything, but a sudden migraine had hit him several minutes earlier and the popping beats of the music just made his head pound all the more intensely.

Standing up from his seat, he began to make his way to the cockpit where Stark was most likely and inevitably steering the plane with one hand and rocking out with an air guitar with the other. Why SHIELD hadn't provided them with a pilot, Steve didn't know. Budget cuts probably — especially considering the whole Hydra thing that had occurred recently.

Just as he was about to reach the door leading to the cockpit, the entire plane tremored as if it had just been hit head-on by another plane. Steve caught himself mid-fall, having nearly lost his footing with the impact. He immediately snapped his head around and ran to where Bruce had fallen. Thor was already next to the scientist and helping him to his feet.

"We are both unharmed," Thor informed the soldier calmly. "But what was that tremor? Have we hit something?"

"I don't know…" Steve muttered with narrowed eyes. "I'm going to check the cockpit."

The plane was still creaking and groaning and shaking, but Steve made his way to his destination without much effort. He swung the door the compartment open and began to yell Stark's name. The sight that unfolded before him cut him off short, however.

The frontal windows of the cockpit revealed the source of the tremors: a large black helicarrier had docked right next to their plane. The door leading from the cockpit to the open sky outside had been opened. A bridge had been drawn out from the helicarrier, connecting it to the open door.

Stark sat in the pilot's chair, conversing amicably with someone who sat in the co-pilot's chair next to him. The billionaire noticed Steve's approach and nodded at him.

"Well," Stark drew sarcastically, "look at who finally decided to show up. And it only took the entire plane nearly falling apart to get your attention."

"Stark," Steve frowned, cautiously moving forward and peering curiously at the co-pilot's chair, "what's going on here?"

The person who had been sitting in the said chair stood up and turned towards Steve. Dirty blonde hair. Deep green eyes. Thick eyebrows. A permanent scowl. A tailored suit.

Steve had seen this man before — rather recently too.

"Captain Steve Rogers," the green-eyed man nodded to him, extending his hand, "it's a pleasure to meet you. This may seem a bit sudden, but I am in need of your services."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Well, here's a new fic! I know a lot of you wanted a sequel to Potpourri!, and I guess you can kind of not really consider this that sequel. But hey. It contains the Avengers and the countries all on the same plane thing, so it's kind of related? It'll also contain a shitload of chaos and interactions later on, so...Idk.

I'll probably write a fic that takes place in-between Potpourri! and Around the World! where the countries and Avengers meet up at some bar or something.

Kudos to those who give feedback!


	2. B is for Baccano!

**Around the World!**

_**B**_ _is for __**B**__accano!_

[baccano (italian) - "ruckus" or "racket"]

* * *

><p>Romano never knew that it was possible to be both scared shitless and annoyed at the same time. Of course, he would never admit that he felt the former; but feeling both emotions at once was making him irritable. So that was three malignant emotions bottled up into one moody Italian.<p>

"Hurry the fuck up, Veneziano!" he growled, shoving another t-shirt into his suitcase. It was quite the struggle, seeing that his suitcase was already stuffed full with other assortments of clothing. "I'm gonna leave without your stupid ass."

There was a crash from the floor above him which was shortly followed by a loud cry: "Don't leave me, fratello! Please! I don'twannadie!"

"Stop crying, you idiota, and hurry up then!" he cried back, shoving a pair of socks into his suitcase. "We're going to miss our damn ride!" Something stuffed in the very corner of his suitcase caught his eye and made him do a double-take. "... Veneziano, why the fuck are your pasta boxers in my fucking suitcase?!"

There was another crash from upstairs followed by a loud thump near the stairwell. Romano leaned back and glared towards the swirling, spiral staircase.

"Veneziano?!"

He set down the pasta boxers that he had ripped out of his suitcase and made his way towards the stairs. He peered up the stairwell just in time to see an avalanche of clothes and one crying Italian hurtling towards him.

Bam!

The two Italies collapsed in an entangled heap on the floor (Veneziano on top of Romano), buried beneath a plethora of clothing and one now empty red suitcase. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. And then:

"God damnit, Veneziano!"

"S-Sorry, fratello!" came the exasperated whimper. "I thought you were going to leave me, because you were mad about me putting my boxers in your suitcase! I didn't have any room left in mine and I couldn't decide between my pasta boxers or my tomato boxers, so I decided 'why not bring both?'" His exasperation ended on a strangely happy note.

"Alright, damnit!" Romano muttered, shoving his brother off of his chest. He struggled for a moment, breaking free of the clothing that had become intertwined with his legs. "Like hell if I could leave without you, even if I wanted to anyways…"

Veneziano poked his head out from the piles of clothing and gazed at Romano with sparkling eyes:

"F-Fratello…"

"Don't look at me like that, damnit." Romano growled. "Now get your shit together, so we can hurry up and leave!"

"Aye, aye, fratello!" Veneziano chirped, smacking his hand against his forehead in a salute-like gesture.

"Whatever." Romano muttered, coming to a stand and crossing his arms.

As Veneziano began rapidly and sloppily shove the scatter clothes back into his suitcase, Romano walked over to his own suitcase. He stood there for a moment, staring contemplatively at the pasta boxers that now laid splayed out across his suitcase. He turned his head and glanced with equal contemplativeness at the hand-sized, L-shaped object that rested in the other corner of his suitcase. America was the one who was always strangely captivated by suchobkecte, not Romano. But America was most likely not even 'here' anymore. Perhaps Romano was just trying to live out the American's memory.

Either way, it couldn't hurt to have a gun at his side.

.

Elsewhere, a certain cheery Spaniard clasped his own tomato-themed suitcase shut. His case sat on a white, umbrella-less patio table. The table seemed to glow with heat from the sun's rays that beat down relentlessly.

The Spaniard sighed with contentedness:

"Romano and Veneziano's place sure is beautiful!"

.

Tony watched as Steve's expression changed from confused to serious. He, on the other hand, was quite amused by the whole situation. Amused and intrigued.

The helicarrier that floated alongside them most definitely belonged to SHIELD... So what did this so-called 'English Representative' have to do with them?

"You said that you need our help…" Steve finally managed; he straightened himself. "And I'm assuming you're telling me this on SHIELD's behalf?" He eyed the helicarrier.

"Not quite." came the accented clip. "It's quite the opposite actually. SHIELD — and in turn you, the '_Avengers_', will be interceding on _my_ behalf." There was a slight mockingness to the British man's tone, like he thought he was better than them, like they were beneath him. Tony didn't like the tone and neither did Steve apparently.

"And what is it that we're going to be '_interceding'_ for you?" Steve replied, albeit a bit mockingly as well but with true concern intermingled with it all.

"'Interceding'. Hmm…" the man frowned with pursed lips. "Perhaps I didn't quite select the right words. You, Captain Rodgers, and your team are being assigned as bodyguards for me and my fellow representatives."

"Great!" Tony exclaimed, clapping his hands. "Babysitting! That's exactly what I had in mind when I decided to build a cybernetic body suit!"

"Why do you need us as your bodyguards?" Steve questioned suspiciously. "I'm sure that you could hire people who are more well-trained for the job."

"I don't have a say it in really." the British man admitted. "A friend of mine requested as a 'final will' per say that me and my fellow representatives would fall under your team's protection, if certain circumstances were to come into being. He was quite the persistent fellow, so I can't really object now, can I?" A strange and dark look passed over his face at that moment. It was a look that was hidden beneath a mask that only Steve seemed able to see past.

"Now, what circumstances are we talking about here?" Tony chirped from his seat. "'Cause if we're talking about politics, I really don't want to get involved."

"The friend I mentioned… his name is Alfred Jones — you met him on the plane; do you recall?" The man questioned sharply, averting his eyes from both Tony's and Steve's questioning gazes.

Tony thought for a moment, recalling his plane trip to the SHIELD station. Quite an amusing trip that was. He shifted through the faces he saw during that time, trying to stick the name 'Alfred Jones' to one of them.

"The tall, fanboying, hyperactive one?" Tony pressed with raised eyebrows. "Yeah. Are you telling me that kid is the representative of some country too?"

"He was the representative of your very own country, the United States of America."

"Damn." Tony swore. "They're just throwing out government positions to kids nowadays, aren't they?"

"You said 'was'." Steve murmured, ignoring Tony's comment. "Did he…?"

"He was assassinated only a couple of hours ago." the English representative replied curtly. He blinked several times before clearing his throat. "Or so we believe. Communications with America have been stagnant since then."

There was a moment of silence.

"I'm… sorry for your loss."

"The _country_ of America?" came a drawl from behind Steve. "You have lost communications with it? Do you know what is going on over there?"

The three conversing men turned their heads towards the doorway leading to the passenger's compartment. In it stood Thor and Bruce, the former supporting the latter with his shoulder.

"My people and other countries have sent agents to America, but we have lost communication with them as well."

"What?" Tony scoffed, a glint of suspicion flashing in his eyes. "So one politician disappears and an entire country goes down under?"

"Tony," Steve chastised, "this is serious."

"Wait, if we've lost communication with America, shouldn't we be focusing on that instead of acting as bodyguards for politicians?" Bruce interjected, before he sheepishly glanced at the British Man. "N-No offense…I wouldn't be much of a bodyguard anyways."

"Jane is down there…" Thor muttered under his breath. "I must go to her immediately."

At that very moment, the Brit's political mask shattered.

"We can't do anything about America now, alright?!" the Brit shouted, finally losing his composure and flinging his arms this way and that. "We can't afford to send anymore people down there, we can't afford to lose you if you decide to go down there, we can't afford to waste anymore time!" Every single word that he had said was shouted in a single breath, and now he was left in a panting mess. The Avengers — minus two — stared at him both apprehensively and uncertainly.

"Yeesh, dude…" Tony muttered after a long drawn out moment of silence. "Chill. "

Said 'dude' visibly flinched as he heard those words.

"Look," the Brit finally sighed, pushing a strand of hair back into place, "there is an unspoken rule between countries that, even in times of war, no assassination attempt can be made on representatives. The representatives handle other representatives themselves in such times. The consequences of breaking such a rule… Well, I can't explain it to you. That's another rule."

"So," Tony drew basically, stretching out his arms and propping his legs on the flight console, "we're basically diving headfirst into this thing without even knowing what we're doing. Cool."

"Alright. So we're acting as bodyguards by the request of Alfred… And I'm getting the impression that you also have reason to believe that you and the other representatives are also being targeted." Steve drew slowly and thoughtfully. "Am I getting this right?"

"Spot on."

"S-So where are these other representatives at?" Bruce interjected with his usual nervousness. "Are they coming here or…?"

"Well," the British man cleared his throat. "The thing is… at first, all of the representatives were to all report via their own manner of transportation to the helicarrier," he inclined his head towards the vehicle with crossed arms, "at a certain time and location."

"'At first'." Tony echoed, turning to face the man with raised eyebrows.

The Brit visibly flinched.

"You see — the thing is…" he sighed, straightening his tie. "It was recently decided that doing things in such a fashion would be chaotic. Therefore, we — and by we I mean you, the Avengers — will be picking up these representatives from their respective countries via the helicarrier."

"I don't think that that would be the best idea…" Bruce murmured pointedly. "It sounds a bit inconvenient…"

"I'd like to speak with Director Fury about this as well…" Thor muttered, his mind obviously still lingering on the wellbeing of one Jane Foster.

"Come on guys," Tony clapped his hands, "who wouldn't want to go on a trip around the world?" He nodded towards the Brit, "So where's our first stop, Sherlock?"

"My name is Arthur Kirkland, Mr. Stark." Arthur frowned. "And our first destination is rostered to be the country of Italy which we will be heading towards shortly. No need to worry about your belongings and baggage. We have everything in stock on the helicarrier. Now if you would please maneuver this plane to dock on the said helicarrier, I would be absolutely overjoyed." And the belittlement was back.

.

The helicarrier was now loaded on with all of its passengers that had the current occupation of bodyguard. They were dispersed all throughout the hull which was bustling with SHIELD agents.

Tony had fully explored the vehicle — checked all the engine rooms and tech rooms and all that sort with Bruce. He had tried getting in contact with Fury and Agent Hill but neither responded to his calls. It was all very suspicious.

So with nothing else to do, he reclined to an empty meeting room, his mind having fallen on the wellbeing of a certain ginger beauty. Propping himself up on the meeting room table, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He dialed a phone rang once, then twice.

"Hello? Pepper Potts speaking."

"How's my favorite soulless ginger doing?"

"Tony? God! I was so worried about you. I called you a bunch of times! Are you in the States right now?"

"Nope. Got stopped mid flight by an angry Jack Sparrow. But hey, I might be dropping by Paris sometime soon."

"Jack Sparrow—what? More importantly: you're coming here? Don't tell me that you've something stupid and that you're becoming a fugitive again…"

"Okay. That was once."

"Uh-huh… Well, I've got to go. I met some Frenchman that is overly eager to show me the beauties of Paris…"

" So you're choosing some sleezy French guy over me? Ouch."

"Hey… You know what they say about the French!"

"..."

"I miss you…"

"Of course you do!"

"I think I misheard you — what did you say?"

"Can't win with you, can I? I miss you too, Potts."

The call ended.

"So," came a voice from behind Tony, "you do have a heart afterall. What a surprise."

The billionaire philanthropist turned his dark head and saw Steve leaning in the doorway from the corner of his eye.

"Well, the Tin Man did, so why can't I?" he scoffed, before he clicked his phone shut. "Pepper is in Paris on a business venture, so I decided to check up on her."

"You know as well as I do that she of all people can handle herself." Steve said pointedly; he drifted towards the table where Tony was sitting and pulled out a chair to sit on. "So about this entire bodyguard mission…"

"Good!" Tony clapped his hands. "So I'm not the only one who has a feeling that Sherlock isn't telling us the entire truth." His smile dropped and he leaned forward, so that he could gaze directly into Steve's eyes. "On the other hand, I have a feeling that you're not telling us the entire truth either."

Steve gave him a pointed look.

"I mean," Tony continued, drawing back into his seat, "you seemed to recognize those so-called representatives when we were on that plane; and I personally never took you for the type to be interested in politics, though I could be wrong."

There was silence. The helicarrier creaked against the changing winds all around them. Steve leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. He gave a quick laugh:

"I don't even understand what I know as fact in the first place…"

"Huh, that doesn't sound so good."

"Putting that aside." Steve sighed, rubbing his eyes. "We should probably keep an eye on Thor… I have a feeling that he might take off after Jane Foster."

"Oh," Tony smiled lightly, "you don't need to be worrying about that. He's lucky enough to be keeping Sherlock company at the moment."

There was a sudden ringing in the air, followed by an automated female voice. This voice repeated two times very calmly:

"We have arrived at our destination. Designated members please report to the outer platform."

Tony flashed a cocky smile at Steve — it was a smile that only Tony could pull off.

.

The sun peaked in-between the stone villas and beat its fearsome rays down on the five men that walked along the narrow stone walkway. A canal flowed blissfully to their left, while creamy villas rose to their right. A small gondola drifted past them in that waterway, slowly, slowly, slowly.

"The burning heat here is almost comparable to that of Hel." Thor murmured, tugging uncomfortable at his civilian clothing (a red blouse and khaki shorts).

"Hell, huh?" Tony muttered, amazed at how powerful the sun's rays were despite the fact that he was wearing sunglasses. He himself was wearing a colorful Hawaiian shirt and swimming trunks and was still sweating unbearably. "You been there before? Not surprised."

"Yes," Thor replied with a raised eyebrow. "Yes I have."

"Not sure how to respond to that actually." Tony admitted.

He turned his head towards Bruce who kept shrinking away from passersby. The scientist's actions received him strange but amicable looks. The stares, however, seemed to cause him to shrink back even more.

"How are you holding up, Bruce?" Steve questioned from the side.

"I'm fine." Smiled Bruce forcefully. "Crowded places just make me nervous..."

"Hold up for a couple more seconds, old chap." The Brit said encouraged from the center of their pack. "We're almost there." He directed them to round a corner and continued to speak: "I don't quite understand you're uneasiness.I really do find Veneziano and Romano's place quite beautiful. It's even relaxing actually."

The rounded corner led to an open plaza-esque park. It was somewhat closed off by low-rising villas; but the clear, blue sky opened up just above it, making it seem rather spacious. A large and ornate pearly-white water fountain rose up from the center of the plaza. It's sprouting water layers sparkled in the sunlight. Surrounding this fountain was a conglomeration of white patio tables. Some of them had stripped umbrellas hanging over them, while others were bare-topped.

Arthur glanced at his wristwatch and crossed his arms. He scanned the area with a frown.

"They said that they'd be here at ten o'clock sharp. It's ten one, right now. I'm not all too surprised though. It's in their nature to be late on such occasions."

Tony was only half-listening to the British man's lengthy complaint. It was way too humid and hot to listen to _that_ kind of drivel. What he would do to take a swim in some nice, cold waters... He eyed the water fountain longingly. Oh how he wished he could be in the shoes of that brunette adolescent who was splashing away shirtless in the pit of the fountain...

Wait. What.

"Oh, there Veneziano is." Arthur blinked as he unfolded his arms. "How... Very like him to be doing such a thing."

The Brit walked forward and waved his hand stiffly in the air.

"Veneziano," he called, "over here."

"You can't be serious." Tony scoffed.

"I believe he is speaking truthfully, my friend." replied Thor gravely.

Without much else to say, the four Avengers followed the Brit to the fountain. The Italian representative hopped out from the pool of water and waved his hands wildly in the air at Arthur. His expression was happy and at ease. That all changed when he registered the four men who men who escorting the British man from behind. When he saw them, he let out a high pitched scream.

"Oh," Tony commented as he recalled seeing the sobbing Italian on the plane ride, "it's _that_ guy."

And that was when Tony heard a gun click at the back of his head. He raised his hands up in the air and peaked behind him. An angry looking Italian with reddish-brown hair was scowling at him. Tony had a sudden feeling of deja vu.

"Uh… guys."

"Get your hands off of my fratello, damnit!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Well, here comes the second chapter several months later… Sorry about that! /bows deeply.

Thanks to all who followed, favorited, and reviewed!


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